Page 40 of Kiss of Wrath

“Why do you work so much?”

Silly question! “I have to support my large family.”

“Have you never wed?”

She shook her head.

“That is odd.”

“Why?”

“Most women your age have been wed for many years with five or more children of their own by now. ’Tis the husband’s job to support his family.”

“What century are you living in?”

“Let me say that a different way then. Why is a woman of your beauty not married?”

“Please! I know I’m not beautiful.” She tried to remember if she’d combed her hair yet.

“Well, not beautiful, but comely in a certain way.”

She laughed. “That is the lamest compliment I have ever heard.”

“I did not mean it as a compliment. Merely an observation.”

She rolled her eyes.

Though he didn’t smile, there was a certain dancing light in his blue eyes. Was he teasing her? Hard to tell with his somber demeanor, she thought once again.

“How did you know what to make for the kids’ lunches?”

“Hah! First, I had to call my sister-by-marriage Alex, and ask her what a bag lunch was.”

Apparently he wasn’t as well-qualified for the job as he might have led them to believe. That didn’t bother her too much. Not yet.

“Then I asked the children their preferences. While I conceded to their wishes on the bag lunches, I told them there would be only one item on the menu for breakfast. Cereal and milk. They all wanted different things, ranging from bacon and eggs to fruity charms, which I only learned later was cold cereal, and a dozen things in between. Imagine the little bratlings thinking some idiot would cater to all their individual tastes!”

Yeah, imagine that! “Thanks for starting the coffee. Do you want a cup?”

He shook his head. “I drink it on occasion, but I never developed a taste for the bitter brew.”

Once again she was struck by the inconsistency of his speech. Bratling. Bitter brew. While at the same time using words like conceded. “Is English a second language for you?”

“Hmpfh! More like eighth. I’ve always understood Saxon English. They are very similar, you know, but modern English is fairly new to me.”

“You speak eight languages?” Why that shocked her, she wasn’t sure. Was she guilty of racial bias? As in big Viking equates with dumb?

He counted on the fingers of both hands. “Actually, ten languages if you count Latin, which is a dead language. Even the priests no longer use it in their Masses.”

Miranda toasted and buttered an English muffin for herself to have with her coffee. Then, without asking, she toasted and buttered another one, placing it on the table, along with a glass of milk and a glass of orange juice, in front of him. Before she had the chance to set some jam on the table, he’d scarfed down both his and her muffins and all the milk. She made two more muffins and sat down with her coffee, spreading some of the strawberry jam on her muffins. He watched what she was doing, then did the same with his own. He nodded his satisfaction.

“Don’t you ever smile?”

“Rarely.”

“Why? Forget I asked that. It’s none of my business. What were you writing?” She pointed to the yellow legal pad with bold male writing on it. She had a pile of the pads in her office and that was one of her favorite gel pens he’d been using.

“Ideas for how to better secure your home and to protect you and the children when away from home.”